


Oxenfree

by mahisquared



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Death, Gun Violence, M/M, Sibling Incest, Twincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-06-10 12:14:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6956095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahisquared/pseuds/mahisquared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanford is in college, and tries to heal from a terrible occurrence back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dark. Really, really dark. I’m mostly writing it for myself because I had the idea and wanted to try it out. I’m not expecting many views simply because okay wow I’ve kinda taken this to an intense place that is not for everyone.
> 
> You are more than welcome to take a peek. If it’s not your thing, not a problem! Again, this is mostly an experimental thing for myself.

_Dear Stanley, I'm writing to you because the worst thing that could possibly happened has happened._

Ford heaved a sigh and looked down at the letter he had started. Perhaps he was being a bit dramatic. But the day had barely begun and already it was awful. It had started at the coffee shop. He had handed over his card, and when the cashier looked at it, she let out a surprised sound, and looked up at him as though she had just met a celebrity.

“Are you apart of the Pines family?”

Ford's blood ran cold. No. No this was not happening. He was on the other side of the country, nobody should be asking him that.

“Excuse me?” Ford had choked out.

“The Pines family!” she said again. “Stanford Pines, that's one of the names in my psych text book, the brother of Sher--”

“How interesting!” Ford said, interrupting her, his voice unnaturally loud. “Well, someone must have the same name as me! It happens!”

“Are you sure?” she pressed. “I mean, is Stanford uh,” she consulted the card, “Filbrick Pines that common of a name?”

“You know what, I've changed my mind,” Ford said, snatching his card out of the startled cashier's hands. “I don't want anything.” And with that, he stormed out of the coffee shop. But something the cashier said had bothered him greatly. His name was in a psych text book? Could it be that his name was in his very own copy?

He rushed to his dorm, faster than he thought possible, and took the stairs two at a time. There was no way...it couldn't be. Ford flung open his door, and thankfully, his roommate was out. His psych book was the only one he hadn't looked through yet. It was a brand new book, but Ford hadn't even considered the possibility that...Flipping to the table of contents he turned to the index, and when he reached the S's, his stomach dropped.

_Sherman Pines, pg 115_

No.

No, this wasn't happening, this wasn't real. But Ford couldn't help himself, he had to know what had been written. Terrified, he opened the book to page 115, and closed his eyes in defeat when he saw what the chapter was on. His brother was the example, his brother was the warning, it was all there, everything that Shermie had done.

Angrily, he slammed the book shut, rushed over to his desk, and began the letter to Stanley.

_First of all, a cashier thought to question me about who I was. Oh that's right, the questioning didn't stop in Jersey! She recognized my name Stan, she knew. Apparently Shermie had popped up in her text book. A text book that I happen to have. And guess what's in there? A whole section on our dear brother!_

_“Sherman Thelonious Pines, born 1958, committed the mass shooting of Glass Shard Beach High School. 5 students injured, 2 killed, and 1 teacher injured.”_

_Mass murder, that's what the goddamned chapter is on. Well, actually it's on the differences between mass murderers and serial killers. It goes on after that, getting extremely specific and god, you know what this means? It means that I'm going to have to listen to a teacher lecture the class on my own brother! And yes Stanley, we're mentioned by full names. My teacher probably knows who I am, it's not a large class. My name will be mentioned in class, and I can already feel the sets of eyes on me, already I can hear the curious murmurers of “is that him?” I can't believe it. How was I not notified that I was going to be in a text book sent out to thousands of students across the country? That seems like something that I would like to know about!_

_And who does that cashier think she is anyway? Asking if I'm the one whose brother went nuts and decided 'Hey! I know what I'm going to do today! Ruin everyone's lives!' What a rude thing to ask someone! Does she have a brain in her head? Why would I want to be reminded of that? I understand that she was curious and that seeing me probably was a big deal. Our family is a big deal whether I like it or not, and people are fascinated by us. I shouldn't be so upset with her, but really, I feel like she should've thought about it for five seconds before saying anything about my name._

_You know in a way you're lucky Stanley. You weren't here for everything that happened. I left Jersey because I couldn't take it anymore. It's not just because I wanted to pursue higher education, I could've done that there. I just needed to get away. I couldn't stand waking up to “bloody” handprints on our door (just red paint) or phone calls from angry parents blaming Ma and Pops for what happened. Telling them that they're bad parents, accusing them of child abuse. Ma and Pops actually had to move somewhere else. It's a small house, two bedrooms, one bath. They don't have to worry about vandalism there at least. It seems that people haven't figured out where they've moved to. Yet. Give it time._

_People questioned me too, you know. Reporters asking me to talk about our home life, try and get an insight on why he did it._

_I don't know why he did it Stanley! Do you? Did you see any warning signs? You were the one he was closest to. He was the one who opened his home to you when you were kicked out. Was he crazy then? Or did he act normal?_

_Life over here...without you...it's awful. I mean, I've met a lot of really great people, but not having you by my side...I feel like part of a whole, like somebody lopped off a limb and I'm just now learning how to deal with it. But I don't want to deal with it, all I want is you. That's what you always wanted. And if I'm going to be brutally honest, for a while that wasn't what I wanted. I wanted space, breathing room. But I can't pretend anymore. Being separated from you is the worst feeling in the entire world. I just want you back Stan._

_My day to day life would probably bore you. Most of my time is spent studying. You were never much for schoolwork, and you always said you were dumb. I don't mean to be offensive but for a while, I thought you were right. But thinking back on it, you were smart Stan, you really were. There was a quote I saw somewhere...I don't know who said it, but it went like this: “Everyone is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.” Your brilliance was different than mine, I hope you know that. You spent your high school years as that fish, trying to climb a tree instead of focusing on swimming. And I think college would've helped you see that. I see a lot of people just like you here, and they're all succeeding because they've found their actual calling._

_I have met people though. Well, sort of. I've met my roommate, but how could you not? We live in a suite room. All that means is that we share a kitchenette and bathroom with the room next to us. Much nicer than having to use a communal bathroom! I've never used the kitchenette, but the people next to us do. They cook actual food Stanley. I just do microwave meals, it's much faster. Anyway, my roommate is named Fiddleford McGucket. Isn't that a strange name? Way weirder than ours. He's a nice guy, and hasn't mentioned my hands once. I can't decide if he's tactful, or if he honestly hasn't noticed them. I think you would get along well with him. He's brainy like me, but he also has a fun side. You always said I was too serious, and needed to lighten up. I think his personality is what you wished I had been._

_You know, it's funny. When I'm not studying or talking to Fiddleford, my time is spent thinking about your face when I shut the curtains on you when Pops kicked you out. It haunts me Stanley, it really does. I've always wondered how you must've felt. Do you feel the way I feel now? I sort of feel like I understand you more. Because Stanley, I was glad to see you gone, I'm sorry to say. I just felt so betrayed, I didn't even stop to think about what was actually happening. And it wasn't like you were gone gone, I still saw you around town. But now that you aren't, and now that I'm here, my feelings have changed. I guess I knew you'd be safe in town. You were living with Shermie! Everything was fine. But it isn't fine anymore. Shermie is in jail and you're...I don't know where you are. I hope it's somewhere good._

_Pops says writing to you is stupid, but Ma thinks it's a good idea, she even told me where to send it. I bet you're steamed about that! Pops is usually wrong when it comes to relationships and love, so I'm taking Ma's advice, and yes, I'm going to send them, no matter what your thoughts are on the matter. If you have any at all. I'm sure you do, you have something to say about everything. You went on for about ten minutes about the length of socks._

_I hate thinking about that sort of thing Stanley. But everything reminds me of you. When I brought my pillow, I vaguely wondered if it was my pillow. Remember when you threw a fit when Ma washed our pillows and you insisted that you wanted YOUR pillow and not just A pillow, and you had to examine them, even though there was no difference? You saw one though, and proclaimed one of them to definitely be yours._

_It's the little things that bother me, the little things that make me think about you and I hate it, I really do. That's a big part of why I'm writing. This might help ease the pain._

_This is getting a bit long I think, but expect more letters!_

 

_I love you Stanley._

 

_Ford._

 

Ford sighed and folded up the letter. He would send it later, he felt too exhausted to do anything else at the moment. He glanced back over at the textbook and felt a pang of anger. How could his brother have done this to them? Their lives, ripped apart at the seams. And all he had said when asked why was “I don't know.” How could you not know? There was a motive, surely. He wasn't just bored, and decided to do this. Their parents didn't own guns, he must've bought one on his own time. So how could he not know?

There was a clicking sound, and Ford turned to see his roommate Fiddleford entering the room. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder, and looked extremely exhausted.

“I can't believe that I elected to take an 8 am class,” Fiddleford said, crossing the room to get to his bed. “Worst idea ever.” 

When Ford didn't respond, Fiddleford looked over at him, and immediately frowned.

“You look upset.”

“I am upset.”

“What happened?”

Ford sighed. “I don't really want to talk about it right now.”

“Well okay,” Fiddleford said shrugging. “But if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm right here.”

“Thanks,” Ford said, trying for a smile. Someone to confide in, that would be nice. Sure, he had Stanley but...having someone who would talk back would be even better. This was heavy stuff though, and it would mean admitting to who he was. Admitting that he was related to a monster. No, he wasn't quite ready for that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: brief mention of suicidal ideation 
> 
> EDIT: Because it was discussed...this is an AU where Shermie is the eldest. The twins are 18, and he is 20. The next chapter will get into why at age 20 Shermie chose to commit mass murder at his old high school.

_Dear Stanley,_

_Today, my roommate has gone to do some volunteer work with a group of people who focus on cleaning up the town. Today they're re-painting areas on buildings that have been vandalized with spray paint. Some of it's tags, some of it's art pieces, but they're painting over all of them. I feel bad for the people who made the lovely art, but I guess the owners of the buildings don't want it there. It made me think of something though, when Fiddleford told me what he was going to do. It made me think of the day after the shooting._

_The spray paint on our shop. On the windows. “They're DEAD because of YOU!” in large red letters, with the names of the dead underneath. I couldn't get that out of my head when Fiddleford told me what he was going to do. That phrase just echoed through my mind. Sometimes I wonder if it really was my fault, or our fault as a family. What did we do wrong?_

_You may not know, but I talked to Ma about Shermie, and her thoughts on the matter. Did you know Pops had never wanted children? That he only had them because Ma begged him? She told him that her life would be incomplete without at least one child. I think it's interesting that Shermie was both a wanted and an unwanted child. Pops never abused him like the papers hint at. But Ma said he never held him, never helped in the care for him. Do you think...do you think that could've had an affect on him? I didn't dare ask Pops about it, because I know he's been wondering the same thing, and I didn't want to make him feel any worse than he already does._

_The news always questions Shermie's mental health, wondering what diagnosis he has. This makes Ma angry because he doesn't have a diagnosis. The only thing that she could come up with was that maybe he has an anger problem, but even then she wasn't sure. She views this whole thing as an insult to mentally ill people. Especially to schizophrenics, because that's the label they're putting on him in the media. “Oh he must have schizophrenia! They all do crazy things like that!” but they DON'T. Everyone just wants a reason, something they can point to. I do too though, but I don't think we're going to get one. Shermie's lips are sealed on his own reasoning. “I don't know why I did it.” But Stanley, that's the scariest part. What if he really didn't have a reason? What if it just did it to do it?_

_I kind of wish I had spent more time with him. You were the one I bonded with, and that was in most part due to the fact that we're twins. We've always been together. Shermie...not so much. You were the one he liked best, even when we were babies. Pops always said that you were the one he wanted to hold, to play games with. As a result, Ma and Pops spent more time taking care of me, since Shermie was so excited to take care of you._

_And this stayed true as we got older. Ma and Pops doted on me, and Shermie was the one who was with you when I wasn't. Sometimes I think he was jealous of our bond. I often caught him glaring at me when we'd talk about the Stan-O-War._

_Gosh, the Stan-O-War! Do you remember how, at first, we wanted it to be a pirate ship? And you wanted the scariest name possible? And I of course, had my nose in a book, and mentioned to you that I had come across the Portuguese Man-O-War in one of my marine life books. “The floating terror” it was often called. You were so excited about that. We could be the floating terror as well! I was the one who suggested Stan-O-War as a play on words._

_Of course as we grew older we decided against the whole pirate ship thing, but the idea to sail around the world together was still in our heads. Can you imagine sailing in THAT? We wouldn't have gotten anywhere in that boat, but it was still fun to build. Something to do, an excuse to be together._

_Our first kiss was in that boat, but I know you remember that, how could you not? I still remember it as though it were yesterday. It was a silly first kiss to be honest, fueled more by happiness than by romance. We had been working hard on figuring out how to make the mast stand up. It kept falling over and we couldn't figure out what the hell we were doing wrong. And when we finally did it we cheered, threw our arms around each other and...well. You were the one who closed the distance, and I was caught off guard. It was quick, but was not a peck, it was not a kiss between friends or brothers. My mind went blank, but I wasn't displeased. And when we broke apart, you looked shocked at what you had just done, and I could feel my face turning red and neither of us knew how we were supposed to react to what had just happened. We knew what had just happened was wrong, and both of us looked around, wondering if anyone had seen._

_And of course, I blurted out “Why did you do that?”_

_Your face was so red! Actually, it went straight past red and went sort of purple, a color I'd never seen on a person before. You apologized frantically, and again, my mind was completely blank. You had done this thing, this completely inappropriate thing, and I was not upset by it. I was not upset, and I couldn't figure out why. Surely I should be feeling disgusted!_

_“It was an accident!” you said wildly. You tried to tell me you had kissed me out of happiness, that it wasn't anything more. I told you it was fine, and as I turned away, I saw a look of sadness on your face. At the time I couldn't figure out why, but I think I know now. I hadn't reacted properly, or at least, not in the way you had hoped. I think you would've wanted me to say “It's okay,” and then lean forwards and kiss you back. But if I'm going to be honest, I didn't have feelings for you in that moment. In my mind, I had decided that it was just a kiss. One kiss didn't mean anything. In plenty of countries, people greet each other by kissing, sometimes directly on the lips! So I brushed it aside. It would be something to laugh about later._

_But I couldn't brush it off for long. I thought about that kiss a lot. And suddenly, you became the star of my every teenage fantasy. It was embarrassing, and I felt dirty, sick. There were plenty of times where I sat and just cried, wondering what was wrong with me. I hated myself Stanley. Did you ever feel the same way? Did you ever cry to yourself?_

_It was a dark time for me, Stanley. I feel odd telling you this, because until now, I've kept it a closely guarded secret...but I wanted to die. I didn't want to do it myself, I just wanted to somehow stop existing. I thought the world would be better off without a freak like me. I knew that it would probably be wise to tell someone, to seek help, but what was I supposed to say? “Oh well, I'm feeling bad about myself because I'm having incestuous thoughts.” No, that was out of the question. So I bottled it up, and luckily, nothing came of it. This is not true for everyone, and I can only thank my lucky stars that I managed to pull through my situational depression. I hope you don't blame yourself for this though. The fault was not yours, and if you hadn't kissed me, some of the happiest moments of my entire life would not have happened._

_It was the second kiss that changed everything for me. Two teenage boys with crushes on each other, left at home, all alone...well, stuff was bound to happen. Honestly I don't remember the specifics of how it happened. All I remember is being on the couch, watching a movie with you. We were seated very close together, and I remember you putting your hand on top of mine, The next thing that I remember is you pushing me down and crawling on top of me while I stuttered that this wasn't a good idea...but of course, that all flew out of my head when you put your hand up my shirt and kissed me._

_Knowing for sure that my feelings were reciprocated is what saved me. And even though a voice in the back of my head told me this was wrong, I didn't care anymore. It could easily be shut up by crawling into bed with you._

_Look at me, babbling on about our romantic adventures. But they were important to me, Stanley. They always will be. I like to return to those memories when I'm having a hard time. Pretend I'm still there. It was perfect, life could bestow no greater gift to me! But that time sped by so_

 

“Hey Ford!”

Ford looked up from his letter, startled. Fiddleford had returned from his work, and apparently, Ford hadn't noticed him enter the room.

“Oh, hello Fiddleford. How was the clean up?”

Fiddleford sighed deeply, and gave a weak smile. “It was a lot of work. I didn't think that painting took that much out of you, but, here I am, completely exhausted! You writing to your brother again?” Fiddleford asked, nodding at the paper in front of Ford. Even though his roommate could not see the contents of the letter, Ford found himself covering it up with his arm.

“Oh, yes, I am.”

“How's he doing?” Fiddleford asked, walking over to his bed and collapsing upon it.

“Um, fine, I suppose,” Ford said. He didn't know if this was the correct response to give. He should've foreseen that this question would come up at some point but it was his mother who was the psychic, not him.

“Let me just finish this up really quick,” Ford said, and Fiddleford nodded, his eyelids drooping.

 

_But time sped by so fast, and it almost seems like life played some sort of dirty trick on me. What was that saying from the bible? God giveth and God taketh away. Or something like that. That's what it felt like. I was given everything and then it was snatched from my hands when I least expected it._

_I'm sorry these letters are turning into novels, I hope you don't mind. I just have a lot to say I guess! You're probably wondering about my psych class, since I told you I was so worried about it. We haven't gotten to the section on mass murder yet, so so far, so good. I'll let you know how things progress._

_I love you,_

_Ford._

 

“There we go,” Ford said, and folded the letter up. “So was there any cool--?” Ford started to ask, turning towards Fiddleford, but found that his friend had fallen asleep. A small smile twitched on Ford's lips. Out like a light almost immediately, just like his brother.


	3. Chapter 3

_Dear Stanley,_

_Ma called me up the other day, telling me that Shermie wants to speak with me. Says it's urgent. At first, I turned her down. I've already made the choice never to visit him in jail, why would I want to speak with him?_

_But, you know how Ma is. She was relentless, and finally, I gave in. So sometime today, Shermie is going to call me up. I'm terrified of what he might say. What on Earth could be so urgent that he's demanding to speak with me?_

_Ma and Pops visit him with some regularity. Somehow, they've retained the ability to love him. I, on the other hand, do not love him anymore, and I think the world would be a better place without him!_

 

Ford sighed deeply, and looked over at the phone in his room. He glanced down at the watch on his wrist and grimaced. Shermie should be calling any second now.

As if this thought was a cue in a play, the phone rang, startling Ford. Steeling himself for whatever was about to occur, Ford stood up and shakily picked up the receiver, putting it to his ear.

“H-hello?” Ford said.

“Is this Stanford Pines?”

Ford closed his eyes. The voice on the line was definitely his brother's. It was a deep bass, and rumbled ever so slightly.

“Yes,” Ford said. “What do you want?”

Shermie laughed at this. Though his laughter still had the same warm quality to it, it still managed to send shivers down Ford's spine. 

“Do you usually start conversations like that or is it just for me?”

“Look--” Ford started, but Shermie cut across him.

“I know you don't want to talk to me,” he said, “But it's important that we have this conversation. I needed to ask a question.”

“Why can't you ask Ma and Pops, don't they visit you?” Ford said aggressively. He heard a snort from the other end of the line.

“I can't ask them this, they wouldn't know the answer.”

“Fine, what is it?” Ford said, wanting this conversation to be over with as quickly as possible.

“Do you think...do you think Stan will...do you think he forgives me? I mean, we were really close, so do you think...that maybe...?”

Ford was struck dumb. Whatever he had been expecting it hadn't been that. Did Stan forgive him? What kind of asinine question was that?

“Absolutely not!” Ford said furiously. “How the hell...why would you even think...I don't even forgive you! Why would he? And how the hell am I supposed to know?”

“You guys had some sort of weird psychic Wonder Twins thing going on. You would know better than anyone. And...it's just that I...I mean...I did it for him.”

“What?” Ford said his blood turning to ice. “What does that mean?”

“He'd been complaining, he'd been upset about people at school harassing him, so I thought that I could fix it—”

“By bringing a gun to a school and trying to kill everyone?” Ford said incredulously. “You thought that's what he wanted?”

“They'd be gone,” Shermie said earnestly. “They'd be gone and could never hurt him again. That's why I did it on your...on his birthday.”

“So that's it then. That's the reason you've been hiding,” Ford said, cold fury in his voice. 

“Yeah,” Shermie said quietly, “I knew you wouldn't take it well. But--”

“Fuck you Shermie,” Ford said furiously, “That was not what Stan wanted at all. You can con yourself into believing that he'd forgive you for deciding that murder was the way to go, but you're wrong. Stan...if Stan...You shouldn't even be allowed to speak his name,” Ford spat.

“It was an accident!” Shermie wailed, and Ford gripped the phone so tightly that one might assume they'd need a crowbar to pry his fingers from the reciever. 

“It wasn't an accident!” Ford said, “You walked into the school and opened fire!”

“Well that part wasn't an accident,” Shermie said, and Ford had to restrain himself from slamming the phone down with all of his strength. “But I never meant to kill him!”

“Bullshit,” Ford said, “I saw the autopsy. Three shots to his head.”

“He jumped in front of someone!” Shermie said, sounding genuinely distressed. “He wasn't supposed to die, this was my birthday gift to him!”

“I'm done speaking to you,” Ford said stiffly, and slammed the receiver down. This was not possible, this had not happened, this was--

“Is everything okay in here?”

Ford turned, and saw his roommate standing in their doorway, an extremely concerned expression on his face. They locked eyes, and Ford couldn't help it, he started crying.

“Stanford!” Fiddleford said, shocked, and rushed forwards to comfort his friend. “What's going on?”

“My...my...” Ford stuttered out, unsure of what he was going to say. He wiped the tears off of his face, and took a deep breath in, and let it out slowly.

“If I tell you something, do you promise not to hate me?” Ford said, a pleading look in his eyes. Fiddleford blinked at him.

“Of course,” he said, looking confused. “Why would I...?”

“Do you know who Sherman Pines is?” Ford asked, looking at the ground. Fiddleford nodded slowly. “That's my brother.”

“Oh,” Fiddleford said, and it was clear that he wasn't sure what to say next. “I...my condolences?”

Ford let out a shaky laugh. “It's okay. I just found out why he did it. Why he...why he...” Ford sat down on his bed and put his head in his hands. “He thought he was doing something good. He did it because he thought our brother would be okay with it, would've wanted him to do it!”

“I don't mean to talk out of line,” Fiddleford said carefully, sitting down next to Ford, “But didn't he--”

“Kill our brother? Yes. Apparently it was an accident.”

“Were you there when it happened?”

“No,” Ford said, “I was home sick. But it makes me wonder if he would've gone for me too. He said he was going after the people who had hurt Stan...and...I was one of those people. I just wonder if he had seen me...would I have been shot too?”

Fiddleford was quiet, and Ford looked up at him, to see a look of discomfort on his friend's face.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't've have said anything,” Ford mumbled.

“No, no, it's fine!” Fiddleford said. “It's just surprising. I've never met anyone who has had such a huge tragedy happen to them.” There was a pause, and Fiddleford suddenly frowned. “Haven't you been writing letters to your brother?”

Ford colored, and looked at the floor. “No,” he said. “I mean, yes, but...I send them to my therapist,” he said, his face turning an even darker shade of red. “He doesn't read them, but he thought it would be a good idea, a way to get my feelings out. And when I'm ready to...to...let go...I'll stop. I feel like in a way...maybe he reads them while I'm writing,” Ford said, embarrassed.

“I know he does,” Fiddleford said, a gentle smile on his face. “I know he reads each and every one of them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This reveal might seem a little early, but trust me--it has to happen now for the rest of the story to be able to happen! More about how exactly Stan died, and what happened that day will come up in later chapters, as well as how precisely it was that Ford decided to write to Stan.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters out today because I wanted to get a letter in.

_Dear Stanley,_

_I told Fiddleford about Shermie. I wasn't planning on doing this, but I had to considering the conversation I had with our brother._

_Shermie told me that he shot up the school for you. As a gift, a birthday gift. I'm sickened by those words, sickened by the fact that he thought you would want something like that! I know times were tough, but how could he possibly think that was a good idea? I wish he hadn't told me. But it makes sense, in a way. Witnesses said that when you fell, Shermie threw his gun to the side and ran over to your body and picked it up, cradling you in his arms. He was rooted to the spot, making it extremely easy on the police when they came. He didn't put up a fight at all. Everyone wondered why, speculating that after he killed you he felt bad about it. Well, that much is true, but they never guessed that your death wasn't supposed to have happened._

_What I don't understand is why he hadn't considered that you might get shot. Were you not supposed to be at school that day? Did he just think that he would get lucky and not come across you? It doesn't make any sense to me._

_The one year anniversary of your death is coming up, also known as our birthday. I'll be 19, one step further into adulthood. I doubt I'm going to celebrate, but I am going to go home to visit you._

_There were two services held for you. One was for you and the other person who died, a girl named Eliza. That was a memorial service put on by the school, and it did not go well at all. The whole school attended it, as well as some other people from the town. The school was still considered a crime scene at this point, so it was held at a local church. Your's and Eliza's school photos had been blown up to an enormous size, framed, and placed in front of the pulpit. The principal said a few words, and it would've been an lovely service if Eliza's father hadn't decided to be so...awful._

_Our parents were supposed to go up, say something about you, and then Eliza's parent would get up, and talk about their daughter. But when our father got up to do just that, Eliza's father started shouting at him._

_“This is your fucking fault!” he screamed. Pops went silent, his face a mask. “My daughter and your kid wouldn't be dead if it wasn't for your parenting!” Pops was so embarrassed, and he tried to walk back to our pew, but Eliza's dad got up and actually assaulted him before he could get back._

_Nobody tried to stop him._

_We had to leave. Ma was sobbing, and Pops was shaking, a black eye blooming on his face. I was horrified, and had no idea what to do, what to say. At least I wouldn't have to go back to school and face anyone, they were closing down the school for a month._

_Showing our faces anywhere was a nightmare. Crampelter's bullying switched from my hands to our brother. Ma got screamed at in the middle of the grocery store, and Pops had to close the shop since people were coming in just to harass him. Luckily Ma's stage name saved us—we were able to get by on her salary. Nobody knew that Madame Mystery was her, so nobody called in to say nasty things._

_They do have a safe place to go, though. They go to a group specifically for parents of murdered children, and everyone there is kind to them. The group is a town over, actually. They wanted to be positive that they wouldn't run into Eliza's parents. Without giving me any real details, they did reveal that there are other parent's who had their children killed by family members. Though Ma and Pops' situation is unique—the family member who killed that family's child wasn't attempting to go on a killing spree._

_The private service we held for you was much nicer than the school's. After the autopsy, they released your body to us, and we decided to have you cremated. Turns out cremation is much cheaper. Even though Ma's salary was keeping us afloat, it wasn't enough to buy a coffin, a plot, a headstone, potentially get you embalmed, and also hold a service. After we had you cremated, we had some of your ashes put into two small urns, and the rest we released into the ocean, right where the Stan-O-War is. Ma bought some roses and we put those into the water too. It was kind of nice seeing the roses being pulled out to sea along with you._

_After that, we held a small...not party exactly...but a get together afterwards. I think they call it a wake? We all talked about you, shared memories, that sort of thing. It was really only family that came, we were too afraid to invite anyone who lived in town._

_One of the urns we put you in is in Ma and Pops' room, and the other, I keep in ours. It's a nice urn, green with white flowers on it. You liked pretty things, I know you did. You always tried to hide it, but I saw your face when spotted something! I think this urn would please you. Ma and Pops got a red and gold one._

_I think Ma is secretly pleased that I'll be going back home for the anniversary of your death. She's been seriously concerned about my safety, and I think she's worried that I might do something rash. Her worries are not without cause though._

_Your death hit me hard. I stopped being able to eat, and I hid under my covers daily. The depression I felt got so severe that I had to be hospitalized. I was in inpatient care for a week before I was released, and Ma forced me to go to therapy._

_It was not helpful, not at first. I felt that I couldn't share the whole story, the whole truth. After all, I had lost not only a brother, but a boyfriend too. You were my everything, and now you were dead._

_He guessed though. I was so scared when he asked. It was about a month in when he said that he had a question for me that might be extremely offensive. Confused, I allowed him to ask it, saying that I doubted it would bother me._

_“What exactly was your relationship with your brother?”_

_Well that wasn't offensive at all, and I told him so with a laugh. He sighed, and continued on._

_“It just seems like the two of you had more than a brotherly relationship. When you talk about him, it sounds as though you are mourning the loss of a lover.”_

_I froze. I had no idea what to think, what to say. I obviously had revealed too much in speaking about you, and it made me wonder if anyone else had managed to guess._

_“Please don't tell anyone,” was all I managed to say. He assured me that anything said in this room would remain confidential unless I was talking about harming myself or others. This did not fall underneath that category, so he wouldn't tell anyone._

_Honestly, it was a bit of a relief, being able to talk to somebody about it. Nobody else, except for you of course, knew the whole truth about me as a person. And now somebody did. Now I had a person that I really could tell anything to._

_If he was disgusted by what I told him, he didn't say anything. I told him that I missed you every single day, and how I wanted to visit you so badly, but what would I say? Surely you were mad at me, surely you wouldn't want to forgive me._

_And that's why I'm writing to you. Fiddleford asked, actually. Why I'm writing to you. I told him my therapist had suggested it to help me heal, which is true. But I didn't tell Fiddleford anything. You see, you died before we had the chance to make up. You died with hate in your heart for me, I'm sure of it. And I want you to forgive me, I want you to love me. But you're dead. Can you hear me when I talk to you out loud? Can you read these? Is there anyway that you could possibly know how sorry I am for what happened?_

_It's what keeps me up at night, Stanley. And it keeps Pops up too. We talked about it, actually. Pops will never forgive himself for the things he said to you. I know you're probably rolling your eyes, saying “it took me dying for him to care?” I don't expect you to forgive him. Perhaps you would take pleasure in his misery. He was blind with rage, heart hardened, and he lashed out. Now he hangs his head in shame. We both do._

_I love you Stanley. And I always will._

_Ford._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"But he's coming for you, yeah he's coming for you. All the other kids with the pumped up kicks you better run, better run, outrun my gun. All the other kids with the pumped up kicks you better run, better run, faster than my bullet."_ \--Pumped Up Kicks by Foster the people
> 
> EDIT: A kind soul reminded me that the internet did not exist back then! So I've tweaked it a bit, but I think it still works.

_One year ago_

Carla, Crampelter, Eliza, Jack, Thistle, Andrew, and Mr. Bright. Shermie repeated this list to himself, holding a piece of paper with cut out year book photos on it as he entered the bike shop.

“I'm looking for a bike lock,” he said to the employee who came up to him with a smile on their face. “Which would you recommend—the chain lock or the U-Lock?”

He had to do this. He had to do this for Stan.

* * *

“What the hell is this?” Stanley asked, opening up the bag Shermie had left on the dining room table.

“Bike locks,” Shermie said simply.

“Do you even own one?” Stan asked.

“I have plans for these,” Shermie said ominously. Stan just shrugged. Shermie had always been a bit quirky, and like Ford, was always trying to invent something useful. Unlike Ford, his inventions never worked. Stan had long since learned to let Shermie do whatever it was that he was planning on doing, and not ask any questions.

* * *

The gun was harder to come by, but Shermie had connections. How could he not in a family like his? Criminals were constantly in and out of the house when he was a child, and calling one of them up for a favor was no big deal. The automatic weapon was soon in his hands, and he quickly hid it away in his closet. The bike locks he could explain away to his brother, but a gun? That would be a bit harder. And while he was sure Stan would approve of his plan, there was always a chance that would try and stop him. And Shermie would have none of that.

* * *

Shermie stared at the pictures on his piece of paper, memorizing each face. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he should add Ford to this list. Something felt wrong about killing a family member though. But Ford had taken Stan from him. Ford had made Stan do disgusting things. His brothers thought that nobody knew about their horrible relationship, but Shermie knew. He had seen them. When Shermie still lived in the family home, his bedroom window faced the backyard. And one day he opened his blinds and saw his brothers kissing under a tree. Of course he was revolted, but more so, he was angry. Ford kept taking more and more of Stan away from him. Their stupid Stan-O-War, and now this! How could Shermie compete? And then, Ford had to go and shatter his brother's heart. And that was unforgivable. 

But, annoyingly, Stan still cared for Ford. It wouldn't do to kill him, would it? Ford would be last, Shermie decided. If he happened to stumble upon Ford after he finished with the plan, he would do it, but if not, he would leave him be.

And then there was the matter of their father. Shermie's blood boiled at the thought of him. How could he kick Stan out with nowhere to go? Stan had come to Shermie, begging him to let him stay. Their father hadn't called, their father hadn't cared. He should go as well.

But if he was going to kill Pops, he'd have to have a good getaway plan. As soon as the gunshots sounded at the school, the police would be called. Maybe he could shoot his way through the police, and run as fast as possible to the Pawn Shop. Stan would be thrilled to know that Pops was gone, no doubt about it. Yes, he'd have to come up with a brilliant plan if he wanted Stan's birthday to be perfect.

* * *

Luck was on Shermie's side. Stan's birthday fell on Senior Skip day. He had been planning on making Stan sick so that he would have to stay home, but it looked like he wouldn't need to do that. Stan wouldn't miss a chance to skip school. 

* * *

Most major high schools had security guards, but Glass Shard Beach was one of the few that didn't. Once more, luck was on Shermie's side. It was almost as if a higher power was giving him permission to do this, clearing the way.

Carefully, he wrapped the chains around all the entrances but one to the school, securing each with a heavy duty padlock. Entering the last, he locked it from the inside and took a deep breath in. It was time.

* * *

Mr. Bright, the principal, was his first target. The gun was louder than Shermie had expected, and it kicked back, bruising his shoulder. That was frustrating. Everyone in the office ran and cowered underneath their desks, and Shermie thought he heard crying. Cowards. He left the office and made his way to the nearest classroom. It might take awhile, but he would find those students, and they would pay.

* * *

Carla was in the first room he entered, and he fired a shot at her. She hit the ground hard, and once more, everyone began to cower. The teacher was brave enough to try and confront him. Shermie considered shooting him directly in his stupid face, but instead aimed a kick at his groin. The teacher fell, and Shermie laughed. 

* * *

It was amusing to see all of the students rushing towards the doors, and screaming when they realized they were all locked. Shermie quickly learned he wasn't a great shot, and was pretty sure he had injured most of the people he had hit instead of kill them. It didn't matter, he could go back to the fallen bodies and finish the job.

* * *

The Incident was a blur. He had found his last target, and one bullet managed to hit eye, but the rest...

Stan had come out of nowhere, and had thrown himself in front of Shermie and the girl, Andrew. Three bullets directly to the forehead. Stan didn't stand a chance.

Shermie dropped the gun and bellowed. This was not apart of the plan. Stan was not supposed to be here, Stan was supposed to be off doing something with friends, or hanging out at home. Stan was not supposed to be here Stan was not supposed to be on the floor Stan was not supposed to 

* * *

Shermie could hear the police trying to break down the doors, but he sat in his brother's blood, cradling his body. The girl seemed to have died, which was good, that had been his intention. But Stanley...the girl had died. His ridiculous sacrifice had been for nothing. There were still students around him, but nobody approached, afraid that he would lash out.

He let the cops pry his fingers off of his brother when they came, and drag him out of the school. Shermie had listened to their attempts to break down the doors, and was mildly impressed with himself. So bike locks had been a good idea.

But as he was handcuffed and placed in the backseat of the car, he couldn't help but feel furious. All of this had been pointless! It had been for nothing! And now people would think he had murdered Stan on purpose but that wasn't it he hadn't meant to do that at all.

* * *

“You can't tell them that.”

“Why not? It's the truth,” Shermie said to his lawyer who had his head in his hands.

“Sherman, if you tell them this was gift for your brother...I just don't think that would be wise to disclose.”

Shermie frowned. “You want me to lie?”

“No, but I want you to not say that. If that gets on the news...your family...you care about your family, right?”

Shermie thought of his mother. “Yes.”

“Then don't say it.”

* * *

Shermie was told to thank his lucky stars that there wasn't a death penalty in New Jersey, but a life sentence in solitary didn't really feel like something he should be happy about. It would've been fine if Stan had lived. It would've been worth it. But it wasn't. And it never would be.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand we're back! I took a break because in my country, the USA, there was a mass shooting, and immediately posting this chapter might be hard on people. But Oxenfree is officially back!

“When we think of school shootings,” Ford's professor said, standing by the chalkboard, “our minds generally jump to the shooting at University of Texas at Austin by Charles Whitman in '66. 14 dead, 31 wounded. Went to the top of the bell tower and opened fire.”

Ford slid down ever so slightly in his seat. He had known this day was coming, the day that they would be talking about mass murder. More specifically, the day they would be covering school shootings. It had been right there on the syllabus, and once Ford noticed it, he'd been dreading it. Maybe they would skip over his brother. There were far more shocking killers out there than his brother. Surely she would skip over him in favor of one of them.

“Whitman is, without a doubt, a mass murderer. But what is interesting is that not all people who shoot up schools are considered mass murderers. Let's use the example of Sherman Pines of the Glass Shard Beach shooting. Does anyone know why he is not considered a mass murderer?”

Shit. He should've known that Shermie would be used as an example.

Ford actually knew the answer to this, but there was no way he could answer it without getting emotional. He had sank a lot of time into learning about killers and why they do the things they do. But nothing had been able to give him any sort of closure. His brother didn't have a mental illness, and had not been abused. Honestly, Shermie had lived a comfortable life. There was nothing that Ford could point to and say “Ah yes, that's it! That's why he decided this would be a good idea!”

A blonde girl in the front row raised her hand, and their professor nodded at her.

“Pines only killed two people, and to be classified as a mass murderer, you have to have killed at least 4.”

“Precisely,” the professor said. “He is simply considered a murderer.”

He is _simply_ considered a murderer? He _only_ killed two people? Were the people in this room crazy? Ford was flabbergasted. These weren't things to be talked about in an airy tone, as if they didn't matter, as if the lives of Eliza and Stan weren't important.

“The Glass Shard shooting was shocking for many reasons. While this was not the first shooting to have occurred in New Jersey, it was the first where students were killed. Secondly, this shooting was clearly premeditated. Pines was going after specific people. And lastly, he killed a family member. Why he killed his own brother is up to speculation. Perhaps his brother had--”

_He wasn't supposed to die, this was my birthday gift to him!_

Ford stood up abruptly and grabbed his bags. He was thankful that this was a lecture hall and not a small classroom—he was able to leave without anyone noticing. 

Ford made his way back to his dorm in a state of shock. What on Earth was he doing? He had left class at the beginning of a lecture. What if he missed something important? Hell, what if they received a homework assignment? But the thought of returning back to class to listen to his professor talk about his brothers was too much. It was too much, too heart breaking, and he could not do it.

_He jumped in front of someone!_

This was a fact that nobody ever mentioned. Wasn't brought up in trial, wasn't on the news, and certainly wasn't in the textbooks. If Stan had just been a little more selfish...if he had just hidden instead of trying to save another...

Ford hated himself for thinking these thoughts. He should be proud of Stan, proud that his brother knew that he was going to die but did it anyway because he wanted to try to help someone else live to see the next day. But...Ford wasn't proud. He was angry and sad.

Stan had been Ford's rock. Strong and unchanging, Ford could always depend on Stan to be there. Stan would've known exactly how to handle the people blaming them for Shermie. Stan would've known what to say to Ma, would've been the backbone, would've made sure that the Pines family didn't fall apart.

But they had. Ford remembered his therapist telling him “Parents never get over the loss of a child.” Their grief being made that much worse with their dead son's name written in blood red across their window, telling them that they were the reason they would never see him again. They were destroyed.

Ford had been glad to leave the family home, to get away from the horror's of Glass Shard Beach, to find positivity somewhere. And it infuriated him that he would never be able to leave it behind. 

* * *

_Dear Stanley,_

 

_You've become part of history. You've become another name, another death, another thing for students to learn about and memorize. And I just don't know how to feel about that. It's very strange hearing a teacher lecture about your death with zero emotion in her voice. But then again, she has no reason to be emotional. Because, like I said, you're just another name, another death, another thing for her to remember to write in her lesson plan._

_Next week is our birthday, so fairly soon I'm going to be leaving to go back home. Ma says that the Stan-O-War is still down on the beach (which I find shocking, but there you have it) so I think I might go visit it. Maybe bring some flowers. Apparently other people have been doing that. Someone decorated the mast with white ribbon and put a small white cross in front of it. I haven't see it yet, Ma told me about it._

_So many firsts on that boat! It almost feels strange knowing that other people have been on our boat, wandering around it. I wonder how they'd feel if they knew that where they were standing had been the site of two brothers making love to each other for the first time._

_Making love. I say that, but honestly I think the right word for what we did was fucking. We were both nervous at first, I remember that. Kissing was one thing, but actually consummating our relationship was something else entirely. Kissing seems so innocent, so at first that was all we did. Though, I can't really say that our actions while kissing were all that innocent._

_That boat was the place we could really be ourselves. We could hold hands, cuddle, kiss, tell each other we loved the other and not have to worry about judgement. Not have to worry about getting in trouble._

_I don't think there was a single time that we didn't mess around on that boat after we decided to date. But this time was different. It was a warm night, stars over head, the moon bright. Cuddling gave way to gentle kisses, which turned into making out, and suddenly you were on top and grinding into me, something you'd never done before._

_Let me tell you, it was heavenly. And it wasn't just the action, it was your hot breath, your heavy breathing, your obvious need and desire. Though the one downside was that I had to wear that damned turtleneck in the middle of the summer. And those hickies took forever to go away! Still cross about that if I'm going to be honest, Ma heckled me about it like you wouldn't believe._

_The thing I remember most about that encounter was afterwards, both of us still in your hand, you gave me this goofy, lopsided smile, and laughed. You were so happy, Stanley. I regret pushing you off of me when you started kissing every inch of my face. Sure it was slightly irritating, but I would do anything to have you back, taking off my glasses so you could kiss my eyelids._

_You were such a cuddler! Which is funny because you had the filthiest mouth on you. All sorts of dirty things spewing from your mouth, being as rough as possible. And then, once it was over, you had the biggest smile on your face, pulling me in for a hug, spooning me until the moment we decided that it was time to head on home._

_I miss that smile of yours. Ma offered to let me take pictures of you to my dorm, and pin them on my wall, but I'm not ready for that. The you in my mind is easier to take than to see a photograph. Does that make sense? I'm not sure it does. But it's how I feel._

_I love you Stanley. I'll be home soon, and hopefully you'll be there with me._

 

_Ford._


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY am I right? Hopefully I can regular update schedule, but we'll see.

In Jewish culture, it was traditional to place a rock on the headstone of someone who had died. Stan didn't have a headstone, so, seeing as Ford was about to leave for home, he had decided bring a rock to place on the Stan-O-War. Originally, he was just going to go searching in the park for a nice looking rock, but when he told Fiddleford what he was doing, his friend objected.

“We need to get you a nice rock!” Fiddleford insisted. 

This is how Ford found himself in a store that smelled strongly of patchouli, was dimly lit, and was run by a short, squat woman who looked like nobody Ford had ever seen before. She was draped in several shawls and scarves, her red curly hair piled on top of her head, and rings on every finger, including her toes.

“Why hello!” she cooed. She greeted Fiddleford warmly, and looked at Ford with interest. “And who might you be?” she said in a deep, soothing voice.

“Ford Pines,” Ford said. 

“I'm Euphrates,” she said breathily. “What brings you here?”

“I uh...do you have rocks?” Ford asked.

“Why of course!” she said, and turned around, shawls and scarves swirling as she did so. “What kind?”

“I dunno,” Ford said shrugging. “A nice one.”

“It's to put on a grave,” Fiddleford said.

“Have a seat, have a seat,” she said, pointing to some large sqaushy chairs that Ford hadn't noticed. “I will bring you out my gemstones.”

“Gemstones?” Ford said, alarmed. “I'm just...I don't need something fancy!” 

Euphrates returned with a large box. She opened it up, revealing many compartments, each filled with a differerent stone.

“So it's for a grave?” she asked.

“Yes.” Ford said, looking at the many stones. “Um there's quite a lot to choose--”

“That's very true,” Euphrates said. “What is your relationship to the deceased?”

“My brother,” Ford says heavily.

“What was your relationship like?”

Ford frowns. That's a bit of personal question. “Good...but...bad at the end.”

“I see...then, I would personally suggest pink rose quartz,” she says, picking up a pink rock.

“Why?” Ford asks, as she hands it to him.

“Pink rose quartz is good for healing emotional wounds, removing negativity and restoring harmony after conflict, and brings peace and calm to relationships of all kinds.”

It was a pretty stone, smooth and round, and felt nice in his hand.

“Alright,” he says finally. He pays for the rock (though he's not pleased about the price) and walks back to the dorm with a happy Fiddleford.

“Now aren't you glad you bought something nice?” Fiddleford asked.

“I...yeah I guess,” Ford says, turning the rock over in his hand. “It's nice.”

When they got back to the dorm, Ford pulled out his paint set, put the rock on his desk, and set to work. Fiddleford looked at him curiously.

“What are you doing?”

“Writing on it,” Ford said.

“What are you writing?”

“אני אוהב אותך,” Ford said. Fiddleford cocked his head.

“What?”

“It's Hebrew for I love you.”

* * *

 

The plane ride home was uneventful. But before he left, Fiddleford presented him with an actual stationary set that he could use to write his letters to Stan with. It was crisp linen paper with gold leaf around the edges. He had also bought Ford a special dip pen that he'd had his eyes on. To his embarrassment, Ford cried when he opened the gift.

“You didn't have to,” Ford said, wiping away the tears.

“I...it's your birthday! It's what friends do!” said an alarmed Fiddleford. Ford clutched the set to his chest and smiled at his friend.

“Thank you Fiddleford,” he said. 

* * *

_Dear Stanley,_

 

_I am writing to you on brand new fancy paper. It's kind of like resume paper, to be honest. Fiddleford gave it to me! And you wouldn't believe it, but I cried upon receiving it. Okay, well, maybe you would believe it._

_I don't know why I cried. I have received thoughtful, touching presents before. I think maybe it's because of what this birthday represents._

_I arrived home yesterday. It was weird coming home to a completely different house. It's small. They didn't really need a large house I suppose, it's only the two of them. They do have a guest room, and that's where I'm staying._

_All of your stuff is in boxes. They had been sorting what to give away and what to keep. Ma said there had been some thing she'd had to fight to be able to keep. Pops had been all for giving away everything, but Ma refused to let him do that. Do you know where they were storing the boxes? In the guest room._

_Yes, surprise, surprise, I cracked opened a box. In that box were our prom clothes. The punch stains are still there! Our prom photos were in there as well, along with our boutonnieres. The flowers had long dried up, but they made me smile._

_Ma caught me going through the box. She made me put everything back, afraid that somehow I was going to ruin the items. This frustrated me. Some of those things were mine! I had every right to look at them as she! But I didn't voice that. Confrontation is not my favorite. But what happened this morning completely turned around my angry feelings towards her._

_She and Pops had done something amazing for me. They bought me a beautiful leather photo album with “Stanley and Stanford” embossed on the front. It's a thick album, and inside are photos of us! I bet you already guessed that. The photos start out when we were babies and continue going until you left. No. Wrong. I wish I could erase pen. You didn't leave. The photos kept going until you were forcibly ejected from our home._

_I do like the pictures though. I cried again though. Hopefully this is not a new birthday tradtion, crying over every present. Shermie sent me a card but I have not read it yet. I'm not sure if I ever will. Ma thinks I should. Pops thinks I should burn it. We'll see._

_Tomorrow I'm going to go visit you down at the beach! I'm both excited and terrified of visiting the Stan-O-War. Ma said that I'm going to love it, that it's incredible what the town did to it. She's told me a little bit about it, but it'll be different to actually see it I think._

_Ma is shouting up that if I don't turn my lights off she'll do it for me. The joys of being back home with your parents._

_I'll see you tomorrow!_

_Love,_

_Ford._

* * *

The three of them each held a stone in their hand as they walked down the beach. Ma had a smooth, black rock, Filbrick had a rough, red rock, and Ford held his painted rose quartz. Memories flooded Ford's mind as they walked the well traveled path from the parking lot to the beach. There was the mound of dirt where they used to play king of the hill. There was that plant Stan was allergic to. And just down here--

Ford stopped short and stared.

“I told you it's nice,” Ma said gently, stepping around him.

“Keep it coming,” Fiblrick grunted, and Ford moved forwards, still staring at the boat.

The mast had been decorated in white and gold ribbons. A cross leaned against the base with Stan's name written on it. Fresh flowers were in the crows nest...was somebody regularly changing them? And the wood...something was weird about it. Upon closer inspection, Ford saw that messages had been written (and in some cases, carved) on the wood!

 

_“REST IN PEACE STANLEY PINES. --Alice”_

_“Sad to see you go. Best boxer I ever saw. --Dylan”_

_“I bet you're picking pockets in heaven you crazy bastard! Love ya, Rowena”_

“They wrote on it!” Ford says, surprised.

“Vandals,” Filbrick grunted.

“N-no!” Ford said. “It's great! Stan would've loved it.”

“Yeah, he was a vandal too,” Filbrick said, fondly. The three of them walked onto the boat, where Ford saw that even the floor was covered in writing. He placed his rock down, and so did his parents. He looked up at the crows nest again.

“Do you know who's putting those flowers up?” Ford asks.

“James,” Ma says, looking up as well. Ford blinks.

“Who's James?”

Ma looks startled. “James? Snakes? Jimmy?”

“Oh!” Ford says, surprised. Jimmy Snakes had been a friend of Shermie's.

“The shooting as a whole destroyed that kid,” Filbrick said, adjusting his sunglasses. “He decorates Eliza's grave as well. I think helping out the victims makes him feel better.”

Ford gets down from the boat, removes his shoes, and rolls up his pants. He wades out into the water, and stops right before the water touches his pant legs.

“Hello,” he whispers, looking out at the water. “Happy Birthday Stan.”

Ford isn't sure if he's imagining things or not, but at his words, the sun seems to shine a little brighter.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short! It's mostly a way to say that Oxenfree is back!

_Do you remember the last letter when I said that Shermie sent me a letter? Card actually. Same difference I guess. The written word on different mediums. Or something like that. Anyway. You are probably very interested in the contents of the card! Well don't be too interested._

_It was just him wanting to know about forgiveness. And you know what? I had a conversation with Fiddleford about it. And I don't know what to make of it._

* * *

“I'm not saying you have to forgive him!” Fiddleford said, taking a sip of his coffee as they exit the cafe. “I'm just saying to think of the bigger picture!”

“What the hell does that mean, 'think of the bigger picture?'” Ford asked angrily. “He murdered two people and injured--”

“I understand,” Fiddleford began, but Ford cut across him.

“No you don't!” he almost shouted. “How could you?” This time his voice was small and quiet, and Fiddleford put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I'm gonna say something, and you're going to listen to the whole thing. And then when I'm totally done, you can respond. Okay?”

“Yeah okay,” Ford mumbled.

“Ya don't have to say that what he did was right. Forgiving him doesn't mean that what happened was okay. It's for you. It's to...release your negative energy and move on.”

* * *

_He kept talking about 'releasing bad vibes' and I suppose I understand what he's trying to say, and maybe he has a point, but it's very hard. Because Shermie doesn't mean it like that._

_Shermie wants me to say, “Yes we forgive you” so HE can feel better about HIMSELF. He wants to feel justified, wants to feel like we're saying “well you did a bad thing but it's okay.” He doesn't care about me finding closure._

_So I don't think I'll be telling him that we forgive him. Especially because I can't speak for you! I can't say whether you'd forgive him or not!_

_What must you have been thinking? Seeing him with a gun, and knowing it was your brother killing people? Or trying to anyway. I guess we can thank the stars he was a bad shot. It's still crazy though. You jumped in front of a bullet. You knew you were going to die. You knew it was going to hit your head. And he kept firing! Three shots to the head._

_You know Stan, I don't think I could be as brave as you. I would've hid. You should've hid! It makes me so mad because Eliza died anyway. Even though you tried to shield her it didn't fully work! Did she poke her head around you? She must've done._

_It would've had the same outcome for her. But you could've lived. You could've LIVED! But you had to play the hero! But that's just who you are. Selfless. Looking out for others. Making sure other people are okay and taken care of._

_I'll always be a little bit bitter I think. Especially because I think you would've forgiven him. You would've taken a deep breath and said “Okay. I can't keep this in. I care about our relationship too much."_

_So should I forgive him too?_

_I just don't know._

_Love,_

_Ford._

* * *

“Ford?” 

Ford looked up from his letter to see Fiddleford standing in the doorway to their dorm. He hadn't even heard the door open. In his hands, Ford held two fast food bags.

“What'd you get?”

“Burgers form Wendy's. I hope you like it there.”

“Wendy's is fine,” Ford says, accepting the bag. “Thanks.”

“Wanted to bring you a peace offering,” Fiddleford said. “After the whole forgiveness thing.

Ford smiles at him. “Fidds, it's fine. You're just looking out for me. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah well, I shouldn't be meddlin' in other people's affairs,” Fiddleford says. Ford shakes his head.

“No, I'm glad you're talking about it. I...it's good to have someone to talk to about the whole thing. I've never had someone to talk with before.”

“I'm glad to be there for ya,” Fiddleford says, sitting down at his own desk and pulling out his burger. “Anytime you wanna talk just let me know.”

Ford feels a flutter in his chest and then frowns. It's a familiar feeling and he doesn't like it. Not one bit.


	9. Chapter 9

_Dear Stanley,_

 

_Yesterday, I got the most unbelievable phone call. I was going to write to you yesterday, but I was in a state of shock and I just forgot. I'm sure you remember Tova, Shermie's girlfriend. You two got along really well. Shermie would used to joke that you needed to stay away from her, but we both knew that he was kidding. Beautiful girl. Well. Turns out she has a baby girl, and she's claiming that the baby is Shermie's._

_Crazy, right?_

_That would make me an uncle! And you too! It was Ma who called me to tell me the news. Tova hasn't been with anyone since Shermie, and the baby's age is right for it to be Shermie's. She never told anyone about the baby until recently. Tova said she wanted the baby, who's name is Sarah, to be able to get to know her family._

_But here's the rub—she doesn't want Shermie to know about Sarah. Isn't that interesting? I think she's ashamed of the whole situation, and she doesn't want him to be able to get any sort of visitation. Can you have visitation in jail? I'm not really sure. Well. The point is, she doesn't want him to know._

_Ma wants me to come meet Sarah. She was NOT approving of the fact that Tova and Shermie had a baby, but she wants to help provide. Sarah's not quite two yet, but she's learning how to walk, and is apparently very cute. Ma is pretty sure that Tova isn't lying—she said Sarah has definite Pines family genes. You know how all three of us have almost the exact same eyes? I guess Sarah has our eyes! Just more feminine. Ma says she has curly brown hair and is very pudgy, just like you were as a baby._

_I'm not quite sure how I feel about being an uncle. It's a nice feeling, but at the same time, Sarah is going to have to deal with a lot. Tova is going to have to tell her at some point who her father is, right? And if not, she's going to learn from her family members. Imagine having a man who shot up a school as your father! And who murdered two people! That would be a lot to carry. It's a lot to carry as a brother, that's for sure._

_Fidds said I should be happy about it, and be glad to have a new family member. A new child is a happy thing. Oh! Fidds is Fiddleford. I've been taking to calling him that recently. He always rolls his eyes when I call him Fidds but I think he's warming up to it._

_I did want to talk to you about Fiddleford actually. I've been having...weird feelings about him. Feelings I can't quite place, but at the same time I can. I think you know what I'm getting at, don't you Stan?_

_I don't feel like I have a crush on him exactly. It's not like with you. With you it was fireworks and heavy breathing, and this feeling of...I can't even describe it. Just pure, unadulterated happiness. I knew in my heart that you and I were destined for each other, made for each other!_

_But I don't feel that way with him. It's more of a gentle fluttering in my chest when we make eye contact, or when he lays a hand on me. And I feel guilty Stan, I really do._

_I still love you._

_Is that weird?_

_I feel like saying that is going to anger you. After all, I didn't stand up for you or anything when you got kicked out. Quite the opposite actually. That doesn't seem like love, does it? But I do love you. I still have all those same feelings when I think about you and ah! I don't know what's going on with me! I want an answer, I need an answer! And it's so frustrating because you can't answer me!_

_You're dead!_

 

A tear falls from Ford's eye and drops onto the page, smearing the ink. Ford presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, willing himself not to cry. When he finally composes himself, he continues again.

 

_I wish you weren't. I'd do anything to bring you back, to even just be with you for one more hour. I feel that it's a disservice to you to have these feelings for another person. For right now I think I'm just going to ignore them._

 

Rain began to gently fall against the window, storm clouds growing.

 

_Plus, I don't even think he likes me like that, you know? And I'm just so...unloveable._

 

There was a crack of thunder that made Ford jump.

 

_Or at least, that's how I feel. I can't think of any good points about me. I'm a six fingered freak who can't even figure out his own emotions. Every time I think about potentially telling him my feelings I think back to you and...nobody could ever replace you. Nobody could ever fill the hole you left in my heart. What am I supposed to do?_

 

_Bye for now._

 

_Love,_

 

_Ford._

 

Ford put the pen down and looked down at the falling rain. Stan had always liked the rain, but Ford? Personally, he never did. It made him feel sad. He remembered Stan telling him that all the plants needed rain. Rain wasn't sad, it brought forth life!

He sighed, folded up the letter, and put it in an envelope. Ford looked over and Fiddleford's side of the room and glared at it. Where were these feelings coming from? 

 

* * *

 

_Dear Stanley,_

 

_My feelings towards Fiddleford no longer matter because he has gotten himself a girlfriend. A hippy girlfriend. A gorgeous, raven haired hippy girlfriend who is better than me in every way. Her name is Sparrow, and apparently, has two brothers. Their names are Fox and Jared. Jared is the oldest, and was born before Sparrow's mom and dad became hippies._

_She's had all A's in every class for every semester, and is going to transfer to WCT in the fall. Remember? MY DREAM SCHOOL? She's going to my dream school! I even tried to transfer, and I didn't get in. But somehow this girl managed._

_I have a mean desire. I want Sparrow to leave Fidds once she goes to WCT. I want her and her shawls and costume jewelry and weird headbands to leave him. Or maybe he could leave her. What does he even see in her? Oh wait—I know what he sees. She's intelligent, she's funny, she's terribly nice, and she's HOT. You would be drooling over her, I know you would._

_It's infuriating how pretty she is. I hate it. I WANT THERE TO BE SOMETHING WRONG WITH HER BUT THERE'S NOTHING. Trying to put me up against her would be like asking someone if they'd like to eat a burnt steak or a perfectly cooked filet mignon. No competition. And no—I'm not the filet mignon in this comparison._

_I guess the only bad thing about her is her fashion sense, but I can't really judge her in that area. I'm not exactly a fashion expert. All I wear is button up shirts, turtlenecks and jeans. And the occasional sweater vest. I do like a good sweater vest._

_She comes over to the dorm all the time. Fidds has kicked me out more than once so they can...I don't even want to say it because then I have to think about it. I walked in on them actually, because she hadn't left at the agreed upon time because they were too damn busy “having fun.”_

_No covers on, no nothing. Both of them stark naked, and pink faced. I closed the door before I could get a good picture of what they look like nude, but it was awful. Fidds was apologetic, and I made a privacy door sign for him so it wouldn't happen again. He said he could just put a sock on the door handle, but I insisted on the door sign._

_Sometimes Sparrow will stay the night while I'm there. They won't...you know, or kiss. But they'll cuddle up on his single bed, and giggle and touch each other “secretly.” It's not a big secret, I can hear the “oh my god Fiddleford!” and the “Sparrow, not now!” things that they say, and their giggles get louder and more obnoxious when they're groping each other._

_I just realized that this entire letter to you has been me “bitching,” as you would say. And it's stupid, because I was just thinking about how I didn't want these feelings. Praying that something would take them away. And boom, here's this gift! And I'm not being grateful._

_But. The feelings AREN'T GONE. Sparrow didn't come along and boom my feelings went away. It's almost as though my feelings got more intense._

_You know what it's like? It's like when you were with Carla for that tiny bit of time._

_Oh my god._

_Both of our love interests got stolen by hippies! Hippies with stupid names! Who names their kid Sparrow or Fox anyway? I remember you yelling about Thistle. How you thought it was probably a made up name for attention. Or maybe his parents just hated him and he made up for it by stealing other people's girls._

_I find myself imagining myself doing the things you and I did, but to Fidds. And making him see that I'm better than her. I remember you would tell me how good I was at sucking cock as you would charmingly say. Though you didn't care for me saying felitio. You said that took the fun out of the activity, calling anything by it's proper name._

_I remember the first time I took you into my mouth. You were so good Stan. You might not know this, but I had imagined doing it for a long time. So when I actually got to do it...god it was heaven. So soft...yet hard as rock at the same time. So long and wide. (I was always jealous of you actually. You had a much better cock than I. I wish I could've been more than just...average.) And your legs would always shake, and you would let out these cute little noises! Little squeaks. You would almost always moan out my name as you came when I blew you. Such a heavenly noise. I can hear it in my head now and it's such a wonderful memory. I hope...I hope I never forget it._

_And you sucking me? God. I almost never want to have sex ever again so that I never have to compare you to anyone. Your mouth was so perfect. I can't imagine anyone, even Fiddleford, being as nice as you._

_I do want to have sex though. I keep...craving it. So I just imagine you, and more recently...well. I don't even need to say it. I don't think you actually want to know about it, do you? I wouldn't. But it's true, I've been doing it. Even though he's with Sparrow. I can't help it, I want it Stan! That's why knowing that THEY'RE doing it is so frustrating. Sparrow is getting everything thing I want. And that's why I enjoy imagining stealing Fidds from her._

_I'm an awful person._

_Hopefully I'll be able to deal with it somehow._

_Love,_

_Ford._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for such a short chapter! i've had a rough time recently, and have also been very busy! next chapter will be regular length, i promise! :)

“You're going to meet Sarah during Thanksgiving break and that's final.”

“But Ma...”

“No buts except yours at Tova's house before Thanksgiving day.”

Ford groaned, and his mother tsked at him over the phone.

“What is your problem with meeting your niece?”

“There's no problem, it's just...I'm nervous. What if Sarah doesn't like me? What if Tova...what if it turns our that she's like...him? After all, they did date. What kind of person would...would...”

_Be attracted to such a fucking monster?_

There was a pause. “Sarah is two, Ford. She'll like you just fine as long as you're nice to her. And Tova...she's a sweet girl. She had no idea what she was getting into, and the weight of what happened is heavy on her shoulders. It's going to be okay.”

Ford rolled his eyes. “Okay Ma,” he said.

“You don't believe me.”

“It's not that I don't believe you--”

“Don't bullshit me, Ford!”

“MA!”

There was a snort on the other end of the line. “You're plenty old enough to hear swear words, Ford.”

“Yeah, but it sounds weird when you say them.”

“You're avoiding the point. You don't believe that she's a good person.”

“She had a child with Shermie,” Ford mumbled. 

“How could she have known what he would become? Ford you need to take it easier on her.”

“Okay Ma. Okay.”

* * *

 

_Dear Stanley,_

 

_Ma contacted me today. Apparently I have to see Shermie's ex-girlfriend, Tova over thanksgiving break. Ma wants me to meet my new niece, and say hi to Tova. I remember her from way back when. It's not like we don't know each other. But at the same time, that's just it! What if we don't really know each other? What if it turns out that she's actually a monster as well?_

_I know that she's horrified by what happened, and I know she wants to shield her daughter from it, but I still am suspicious. Wouldn't you be? Am I just being an asshole? I'll talk to Fidds, and see what he thinks. I mean, who would date Shermie? Maybe he was able to hide it from her. He sure hid it from us._

_So anyway, about our new niece, Sarah. I was thinking about something. Every time I think about her, I think “what if she turns out like Shermie?” But then I realized how unfair that is. Because...she's his daughter, but it's not kind to think that she's also his choices. She can be his child and not be his choices. It was his choice to shoot up that school, not hers._

_It's like with Pops. Sometimes his anger goes wild, but I'm not his choices. I'm not his anger, I'm my own person. So it's not fair. It's not fair to believe that she'll be like him. But I can't help it Stanley. I keep thinking it!_

_I kind of feel like that might be hard for her in the future, when she chooses to tell people that fact about herself. People are going to assume, they're going to be weirded out. But maybe she won't tell. Maybe she'll keep it to herself, take it to her grave. I kind of feel like that's what I would do. I wouldn't want a single person to be aware of that awful fact._

_She's only two and she has such a powerful and awful future ahead of her._

_You know, from what I know, Tova still hasn't told Shermie that he's a dad. I wonder how he'll react to that news. I hope he cares. I hope he understands the gravity of the future he's given that poor child. But something tells me that that won't be the case. He's a jerk, and only thinks about himself._

_Well, that's all for now. Sorry for such a short letter. Over Thanksgiving I'll be sure to catch you up on all the crazy things that will be happening._

_I love you._

_Ford._


	11. Chapter 11

_Dear Stanley,_

 

_I don't like to cook. But I've been assigned the task of making that gross green bean casserole. Well. You always liked it. I always thought it was weird and gross though, and I have to make it. Ma was saying something about how I'm an adult, and I'm plenty old enough to be helping with the cooking. I tried to tell her that I'm bad at it, but she wouldn't listen. So. That's what I'll be doing on Thanksgiving._

_Today I met Tova and Sarah. Sarah is the most adorable child, but it was...really weird. She looks like a female version of you when you were a baby! There are obvious differences of course. Her cheeks are rosier than yours were, and she has more of a button nose, like Shermie. But her eyes and eyebrows are the same, and her cheeks are just as round as yours. It was really strange. I wanted to joke that maybe Sarah was your child, but I thought that might be in bad taste. And I know you wouldn't have done anything like that. You were always disgusted and angered by the idea of cheating. The other thing is that you and Shermie had the same eyes, so it's not really that surprising that her eyes look like yours._

_She has thick hair like you did, but it's curly like mine, and reaches her shoulders. She's old enough to walk, and has a few words. Very adorable._

_Tova is...wow. I feel a little bad being so swept away by her, but she's not like I imagined her, or even remembered her. She's very pretty, and she's so nice. She's very loud and outspoken like you and Ma, and her eyes sparkle with she laughs._

_Is it wrong that I find her nice looking? I think it might be weird. I'm not infatuated by her. THAT would be weird. And upsetting. After all, she was Shermie's girlfriend, and has borne his child, my niece. That would just...I don't even know. All I know is that would be bad._

_Actually, the real reason I wanted to write to you is the conversation I had with Tova. We talked about Shermie. It was a really awkward conversation, but I think it was something that really needed to happen._

 

* * *

 

“I'm going to wait until she's eighteen.”

“To tell her?”

Tova nodded, and sighed. “Or maybe sixteen. I don't know. I just...it's such a huge burden to put on a child's shoulders, don't you think?”

There was a small silence between them. “I suppose,” Ford says slowly. “But she's going to ask before then...she's going to ask where her dad is.”

“I know that,” Tova said, narrowing her eyes. “I guess...I guess I'll just tell her he's in jail.”

Ford nodded slowly. “So...Shermie still doesn't know about his daughter?”

“No...he does,” Tova said with a sigh, collapsing on the couch. “I recently told him. He wants to meet her so bad, but I told him that he doesn't even deserve to know of her existance.”

Ford sat next to her unsure of what he was meant to do next.

“I don't want her to have anything to do with that...that...monster! There's no other way to put it!”

“I agree,” Ford said finally, nodding slowly. “He's an absolute monster, who believes his actions were...were...”

“Were founded in justice,” Tova said bitterly. Ford's eyes went wide.

“Wait...”

“I know why he did everything. He told me to keep it a secret, but it seems that you know already.”

“About Stan and how it was meant to be a gift to him?”

Tova buried her face in her hands. In the background, Sarah babbled away, playing with a toy.

“Yes, exactly,” she finally said. “And it makes me wonder why. Makes me wonder...about chaos theory.”

Ford blinked. “There's nothing we could've done--”

“But what if there was?” Tova said desperately. “What if there was some small action that lead to this? That built up to--”

“TOVA!” Ford said loudly. Tova quieted, and looked away, embarrassed.

“I'm sorry,” she finally said. “I'm just...”

“Trying to make sense of it all. We all are.”

* * *

_She mentioned Chaos Theory. Do you know what that is? It's...it's basically the butterfly theory, but with some differences. The idea that one small action can have a huge reaction somewhere else._

_And it sure is interesting to think about that. That maybe one of our small actions led to a huge reaction within him. But I don't think it's right to blame ourselves. Looking back, there's nothing we could've done. Although sometimes I wonder..._

_Is there something YOU could've done?_

_I would never blame you of course. But I do wonder how much you knew about him...descending into insanity. He clearly cared about and loved you, but in a sick and vile way. Not in a way that you would've wanted. So I'm sure you didn't see it. Wouldn't you have gone to one of us?_

_But we abandoned you. Kicked you out. So maybe you did go to someone and I'll just never know. Because we were no longer worthy of your trust. Damn it. I feel even worse now. But I have to deal with it. I have to deal with what I did._

_It was dad who officially kicked you out, but I did nothing to stop it. I watched it happen and kept my mouth shut. In all honesty, I wanted you to go. But then when it was real, when you were gone, I realized what an ass I had been. How much I really needed you._

_And now._

_You're gone._

_Forever._

_And I feel like some of that is on my shoulders. I wonder if the Chaos Theory...if it's right. If this action of kicking you out...if it led to that huge reaction of yours and Eliza's deaths._

_I need some space to think. I'll write soon._

_Love,_  
_Ford._


End file.
